


Good Intentions Gone Soggy

by JauntyHako



Series: Les Misérables Fake Relationships [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Company Picnics, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Frittatas as relationship analogies, M/M, Multi, Musichetta's Mean Streak, Questionable Tattoo Choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26948242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JauntyHako/pseuds/JauntyHako
Summary: When Musichetta is invited to the annual company picnic, she has to decide which of her boyfriends to bring. Or she could bring both and pass them off as a gay couple.
Relationships: Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Series: Les Misérables Fake Relationships [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962487
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Good Intentions Gone Soggy

Musichetta was not like most women at her office. For one, she was taller. That should not have featured as high on her list of Reasons I'm Better Than Debra From Two Cubicles Over. But it did, because at heart she was also pettier than most women at her office. But the reason said women at the office would have listed to separate her from them was that she was cheating on one man with another man, they just hadn't quite figured out which one was her actual boyfriend.

Her actual boyfriend Joly listened to her story about her gossiping coworkers while her also actual boyfriend Bossuet tried to make paninis. Joly, in the interest of preserving the careful balance they had crafted while they dated the same woman while only superficially sympathetic towards each other, did not mention the slices of tomato Bossuet had dropped to the floor and then shoved back into the panini. He was however prepared to play an elaborate panini-based shell game to make sure he would not be the one to end up with the floor tomatoes. 

“I can't tell them I'm dating two people at once. First off, I'm not even sure they could grasp the concept,” Chetta said, wearing the expression of a woman who feared she may be the only intelligent lifeform at her place of employment. “But even if they don't, that kind of thing would open me up to so much bullshit. I might as well start looking for a new job.”  
Joly nodded sympathetically. His eyes did not leave the panini press.  
“Where there would be another Debra spreading rumours about you cheating on your boyfriend with your boyfriend.”  
“Exactly.”  
They both leaned back, she staring at the ceiling, he pretending to while keeping his eyes on the kitchen. Joly was no stranger to workplace rumours. Working as a doctor while using a cane had not only resulted in more Dr House jokes than he ever thought could be made, but also a persistent rumour mill over why he needed the cane. In his case it was mildly annoying and then mildly satisfying when he 'accidentally' wacked people's shins with his cane. Revelations of Musichetta's queer dating life would at the very least cost her a semi-comfortable work environment.   
“There's the company picnic next week, right? You should bring a guy other than one of us, just to confuse them.”

“Noo. I'd be so jealous.”  
Bossuet came back with three plates and a pout Musichetta would find cute but that Joly was completely indifferent about. He wondered if it was coincidence that Bossuet put the floor tomato panini on Joly's plate, but in either case he didn't notice when he switched their plates. Musichetta did and gave Joly a look that was at least seventy percent fondness and only thirty percent exasperation.   
“Would you be jealous if Chetta took me to the picnic? She can't take both of us.”  
Bossuet shrugged, poking at his panini in something close to embarrassment.  
“A little,” he said but his admission was drowned by Musichetta gasping and pointing between the two of them. Joly and Bossuet exchanged a look of confusion, and then a second, longer one of mild concern, because Musichetta had begun grinning like a mad genius about to create life from goo and lightning.  
“You'll both go with me to the picnic! And you pretend to be boyfriends!”  
“Uh ...” Joly wondered how he should word this. Bossuet was faster.  
“We're already boyfriends, Chetta. Your boyfriends.”  
Musichetta shook her head.  
“No. You pretend to be each other's boyfriends. Like a gay couple.”  
Joly stared down at his panini, wondering if these things released fumes that could go to your head.   
Then he looked up again, stating: “What.”

The strength of her genius forced her to get up and pace the living room, hands flying wildly as she laid out her diabolical plan.  
“Trust me, it's perfect. This whole time they are trying to figure out which one of you I'm dating, going on and on about who I'm cheating on, which one of you is my real boyfriend. When I bring both of you to that picnic and introduce you as my gay roommates, they'll be so shocked. If we're lucky there might be a heart attack or two. They'll feel so bad about themselves, exactly like the small-minded, tattling little cockroaches they are.”  
Musichetta was about two seconds away from laughing maniacally, eyes flashing with the fire of petty revenge against coworkers who probably didn't deserve that kind of language. Bossuet and Joly were no longer looking at each other.

“Chetta, here's the thing ...” Joly began. “Bossuet and I have a ... a sort of arrangement.”  
“So we can be on friendly terms when we're with you,” Bossuet fell in.  
Joly continued.  
“I'm worried if we do this, that balance would be upset. Things would get ...”  
“Weird. Like super weird. We're not even really friends. I mean, I barely know this guy.”  
“Exactly. And I don't know Bossuet. Besides, neither of us is interested in men, nevermind each other.”  
A lie, on Joly's part. He pretended not to see Musichetta's doubtful look.  
“What he said. We'd never make a convincing couple ...”  
“We're just not compatible.”  
Musichetta had her arms crossed, looking from one to the other like she couldn't quite believe what she'd heard. When after several seconds nothing further was forthcoming she said: “You do realise that you just completely defeated your own argument by tag-teaming me with that little speech, right?”  
Joly wanted to protest, but then his mouth snapped shut when he realised that was exactly what they'd done. He groaned, burying his head in his hands while Bossuet still tried to argue his way out of it.  
“Chetta, please, come on. Don't make me do this. You know how I feel about ... that. And him. And all the other stuff.”  
Part of Joly was curious to find out what Bossuet meant by how he felt about him, but the self-preserving part in him shut him up by reminding him that it was probably just latent dislike, and that he was better off not knowing.  
“It will be a bonding experience,” Musichetta declared and Joly knew they'd lost. Her tone brooked no argument, and he accepted defeat with a weary sigh, reaching for his panini. In all the confusion and attempts at reason, he had not noticed Bossuet switching their plates again.

Joly's last objection to the whole idea had been that the picnic policy clearly stated that employees were only allowed to bring a +1 with them. Musichetta had waved off his concern, claiming that the harpies at her office would be too eager for fresh meat straight from the rumour mill to object on a technicality. While her general attitude towards her coworkers left something to be desired, her assessment of them did not. 

That was how Joly ended up standing in a parking lot, one hand on his cane, the other at the end of his outstretched arm locked with Bossuet's, who completed their physical V-shape of general discomfort.  
“Be more conspicuous, will you?” Musichetta hissed and pushed Bossuet until they were shoulder to shoulder, both looking in opposite directions to avoid making eye contact. This was bad on so many levels. Joly could feel the discomfort radiating from Bossuet.   
He'd given himself a pep talk this morning getting ready, revolving around the absolute necessary precaution of not letting anyone know that he maybe wasn't as impartial towards Bossuet as everyone believed. He'd be screwed if Bossuet, actual straight guy, found out Joly sometimes used his turn on movie night to pick comedies not for himself or for Musichetta, but because they would make Bossuet do that adorable little chortle he always did. But, more importantly, it would unbalance the steady relationship they had with Musichetta.   
“Try looking less like someone's forcing you to do this,” Musichetta said, adjusting Bossuet's bowtie.  
“Someone _is_ making us do this,” Joly said.   
Bossuet snorted.  
“Quit whining. We can't go to the picnic like this, everyone's going to know you're not together. You need to practice.”  
Portents of doom sounded less ominous.  
“Practice?”  
“Did I stutter? Bossuet, do something romantic.”  
Bossuet jerked back, a look of panic caught on his face.   
“I can't be romantic on command.”  
“Of course you can. Do that thing you did last weekend.”  
Bossuet made to object again, but Musichetta wouldn't hear it. To please his girlfriend, Bossuet sighed and turned to Joly, reaching out to take both his hands and being confronted with the cane.  
“I'm not letting go of that,” Joly said mildly while Bossuet looked down on it as if it was about to attack him. He eventually settled on taking Joly's free hand between both of his. And then he just stood there.

It was easily the most awkward situation Joly had ever been in. Around them on the parking lot people got out of their cars, met up, bags slung over their shoulder as they headed towards the green. He was trapped between his girlfriend and her boyfriend, waiting for said boyfriend to do something romantic.  
“Uh,” Bossuet said. “You have beautiful eyes?”  
Joly chanced a look at Musichetta, just in case that was supposed to be it and he ought to pretend to swoon. Musichetta, thankfully, was not impressed.  
“Try again.”  
And this time, it was like a switch had been flipped. Joly saw Bossuet take a breath to steel himself and had a fraction of a second to be insulted, when Bossuet looked up and made the most intense eye contact of Joly's life. Half of him wanted to run away. The other half needed to hear what was going on in Bossuet's head that made him look like that.  
“I'm glad we're in this together,” Bossuet said and then he slowly raised up Joly's hand and kissed it. Joly swore he warped his cane he gripped it so hard, aware that his mouth hung open, his face burning. Right in this moment Joly knew Bossuet had feelings for him, he saw it clear as day in his eyes, the gentle touch of his lips to the back of Joly's hand, his sincere confession. And then Bossuet drew back and the spell was broken.  
“I did it. Fine? Can we go now, please?”

Of course. Right. Still an act. Musichetta was satisfied, but Joly felt like an idiot for falling for that. He'd never pegged Bossuet as a good liar, but obviously there were things he didn't know about the man. Bossuet looked distinctly unhappy, pushing one of his now free hands into his pocket, frowning down at the concrete.  
They made their way to the park, Joly and Bossuet still hand in hand, Musichetta by Joly's side, predicting all the shocked faces of her coworkers and taking more joy in the exercise than good, decent people should. She was one good excuse away from rubbing her hands together in glee.   
To be fair, her coworkers did make hilarious faces when Musichetta introduced her 'gay best friends'. The woman Joly was almost certain had to be Debra actually did look close to cardiac arrest, which was probably why Chetta kept watching her like a hawk.   
“Hey, all,” Bossuet said, waving a greeting in the round. Joly sold the performance by leaning over and placing a chaste little kiss on Bossuet's cheek. Nothing inappropriate, but he might as well have shot someone from the reactions it drew.

In hindsight, Joly should have known that they wouldn't fade into the background like he hoped they might. Musichetta was the one shunted off to the side, while they were put front and center. After the first obligatory round of introductions and small talk, the conversation then turned to Joly's cane, like it always did.  
“May I ask,” one of the women said who also had a good chance of being Debra, with that tone of voice people had who thought they were being discreet and empathetic. Joly barely stopped himself from shuddering. “What you have?”  
Limited patience for invasive questions, Joly had on his tongue. But he bit it down, because these were not his coworkers, and he didn't want to make Musichetta's life harder than it had to be. It was the entire reason he was here. He was still working on a more diplomatic comeback when Bossuet of all people came to his aid.  
“I'm sorry, but that's a very personal question. We like to get to know people better before we talk health problems,” Bossuet said as smoothly as if he'd practiced it. The potential Debra backed off mildly embarrassed, at least on the cane-related questions. Joly showed his gratitude by squeezing Bossuet's hand in what he hoped was intimate enough not to blow their cover but platonic enough to prove he was sincere. Bossuet squeezed back, just as Debra geared up for another round.  
“Of course, dear. Can I say, you're just adorable together. Did you meet through Musichetta?”  
“Yes,” Joly said. Not a lie.  
“We spent a lot of time together through her,” Bossuet continued. Also not a lie.  
“One thing led to another.” Still the truth.  
“And I fell in love with Joly.”   
There it was. It was a perfectly fine generic story, the kind they'd practiced telling on the way here. This time Joly even managed to make the Smitten Eye Contact Chetta had insisted on and that they'd consistently failed at during practice by breaking into laughter halfway through. As he looked at Bossuet looking for all the world like a boyfriend remembering their beginnings, Joly suddenly couldn't leave it at the generic telling.  
“I remember falling in love like it was yesterday,” he added. Bossuet shot him a quizzical look, still smiling but likely wondering what the hell Joly thought he was doing. “We went to a midnight showing of-” The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but he couldn't say that in front of people like Debra. He floundered, suddenly lost for any media production that was not ragingly queer.  
“Star Wars!” Bossuet interjected.  
Joly breathed a sigh of relief.  
“Right, Star Wars. I always forget. Anyway, all of our friends were there, we'd gotten dressed up, it was a lot of fun. At some point Bossuet here decided to reenact a scene from the film, and before anyone could stop him he's jumping from the balconies and lands, uh, face first on the seatbacks. We're all running over, worried he got hurt, but then he jumps up, throws his hands in the air and goes 'I'm fine, I'm fine'. I didn't know if I should scold him or admire him, but I knew in that moment I was in love.”  
Debra laughed and awwed at his story, and he caught Musichetta a few steps away giving him both thumbs up, encouraging him to keep it going.   
As Debra's attention was briefly diverted to some other piece of juicy gossip, Bossuet whispered at his ear: “Nice save with the face-thing.”  
“I wasn't going to tell anyone you sprained your pelvis,” he whispered back, smiling like nothing had happened when people started paying them attention again. 

Funnily enough, it was easy pretending to be a couple. Joly could almost forget that this was an act at all when Bossuet got up to get him another helping of that delicious salad and kissed his hair on the way up, or when he repeatedly relayed a completely made up story about their first kiss, telling it so much he started to believe it himself. Holding Bossuet's hand turned from a chore into a safety blanket, and he no longer kissed him because Musichetta started grinning from ear to ear everytime she saw them do it, but because he liked it. Liked how Bossuet always seemed to be caught mid-laughter, like being kissed by Joly was a delightful surprise rather than an elaborate act. 

The picnic, Musichetta concluded that evening on the drive back, had been a resounding success.  
“That cow Debra couldn't believe it! That whole time she was asking me questions about you, like she was trying to catch us in a lie. But you showed them. Hah, they'll be asking me when the wedding is you sold it so well.”  
Joly, tired from being among strangers all day, listened only with half an ear. If Musichetta was happy, he was happy, but he wouldn't mind a long nap right now.  
“I still don't know which one is Debra,” he confessed to Bossuet, who looked equally knackered but had energy left enough for his trademark chortle, usually reserved for top-tier comedy films. Joly smiled and without thinking leaned over and kissed the corner of Bossuet's mouth.  
Bossuet met him with stunned silence, even Musichetta had paused her tirade about her coworkers. Joly drew back, horrified and trying not to show it, stuttering out the beginnings of an apology, when Bossuet said way too loud in their small car: “Hey, did someone fart? Not cool!”  
Grateful beyond measure Joly played along and soon their windows were completely unnecessarily open while they were embroiled in a joyful argument about who had passed the non-existent fart.

The awkward silence only returned when they stopped at Bossuet's place, the closest one on their route, and they had to say goodbye.  
Bossuet was dragging his feet as he collected his things, pretending there was something he'd forgotten when Joly had made sure ten minutes ago that all his important things were safely in his bag or pockets.  
“So,” Bossuet said, standing at the open car window, looking down at Joly who was leaning out of it. “Guess that means we're breaking up now.”  
“Guess so,” Joly said, hating how that sounded. He didn't want to break up but realised at the same time that there had never been anything to break up.   
“Yeah.”  
“Yeah.”  
Musichetta watched them through her rearview mirror, shaking her head in disapproval. Her motor was still running, she probably wanted them to hurry up.  
“I'll ... see you around?” Joly ventured and cringed at how awful that sounded. As if they were nothing more than casual acquaintances. Which, up until today, they had been. He'd known it would change things, that it would make things awkward. He never should have agreed to this.  
Bossuet patted his hand absently, then went to get a goodnight kiss from Musichetta. Joly had never tended towards jealousy. A little bit was unavoidable, even in a poly relationship, but it had never bothered him. Now he wanted to crawl into bed and watch the saddest war movie he could find until he cried himself to sleep. Or maybe something less dramatic. But still.  
Chetta drove him the rest of the way home and didn't once try and cheer him up. She knew he needed to wallow a bit.

After wallowing for three days Joly thought he was ready to face Bossuet as a Normal Platonic Friend with Nothing Going On. He got ready for movie night, leaving all lights in his flat on, because Chetta liked horror films and he wouldn't be able to enter any dark rooms for a while after this.   
On the tube to her place he got a text from her saying she would be running late from work and he should just let himself in. He'd done it often enough, retrieving her spare key from its hiding place, but this time it was gone.

His first thought was that a burglar had found the spot. It was half a block from Chetta's place, but there was still a chance someone had seen one of them get it before, and now it was gone, and someone had broken into her flat, and it was probably his fault.   
His brain caught up with his irrational fears and told him that Bossuet had likely gotten a similar text and simply arrived earlier than Joly. He still wasn't entirely convinced, but took the risk and rang when he reached Chetta's place. He was buzzed up, hoping that burglars would not let guests in, but his worries were only laid to rest fully when Bossuet opened the door, wearing an apron and a big grin.   
“Hey, babe, I made ... oh. You.”  
Nope, he wasn't ready. Three days of wallowing and building of emotional courage had not prepared him for this moment. He shrank under Bossuet's pursed lips, and the lines on his forehead he'd never seen there before.   
“Hey,” he said weakly. At least Bossuet let him in, told him to wait in the living room, dinner would be finished soon. Joly, miserable and knowing it would be unfair to ask Chetta to be the buffer between them, tried to come up with a plan of attack that wouldn't leave him a complete wreck. They had to clear the air between them, somehow get past the awkwardness of pretending to be a couple for a day, and return to how they were before. He hadn't come up with anything useful yet when he heard an alarming sound from the kitchen.  
It sounded like: “Oh no.”

Concerning Bossuet that meant something had likely spontaneously caught fire. Joly got to his feet as quickly as he could, hurrying to the kitchen. He used to believe that Bossuet was just clumsy and careless, but he had learned by now that things did spontaneously catch fire around Bossuet without his input.   
Nothing was on fire. Bossuet was however wet from toe to tip and a puddle was beginning to form in front of the kitchen sink, where the faucet had turned into a decorative fountain. It sprayed water everywhere, but mostly Bossuet who stood helplessly in front of it with a dirty pot as his only shield.   
“Save the-” Joly threw a quick glance into the pan on the stovetop. “Oh, frittata! My favourite.”  
It occurred to Joly that this might have been on purpose, that Bossuet both remembered his favourite dish and chose to make it because of that. The thought warmed him. The water pooling at his socked feet did not.  
“Eww. Ew, ew, ew. Wet socks. Ew. Save the frittata, I'll turn off the water.”  
Bossuet did as ordered, running to secure the frittata from an early wet demise, while Joly turned off the water, his wet socks sloshing and slapping on the kitchen tiles. The water spouting from the faucet ran to a halt. Joly was about to look for towels when he heard Bossuet chortling behind him.  
“What?”  
“You're making a face,” Bossuet said, still barely containing his laughter.  
“Am not,” he said and realised at once that he was. He defended himself lamely. “My socks are wet.”  
Bossuet looked down at himself, barefoot but dripping wet from toe to tip.   
“That's horrible,” he said and Joly couldn't for the life of him figure out if he was joking. Just in case he threw a towel at his face.   
“Let's get this cleaned up and then borrow some of Chetta's clothes. She won't mind.”  
“I bet she'll mind having her kitchen ruined,” Bossuet said, forlornly pushing the broken faucet from one side of the counter to the other. His shoulders slumped, his mouth twisted into an unhappy expression. Joly had planned on avoiding any and all physical contact with Bossuet to avoid stepping over any lines – and to spare himself the heartbreak of Bossuet pushing him away – but all that flew out of the window when he saw him like that. He walked up to Bossuet, careful not to slip with his cane on the wet floor, and rubbed Bossuet's back.  
“It was just bad luck, she won't be mad.”  
“You think?” Bossuet asked hopefully.  
“I know,” Joly confirmed. “Now come on, you do the floor, I'll wipe down the counters. At least the frittata is safe, huh?”  
Bossuet's quick sideways glance said it all. Joly deflated.  
“The frittata?”  
Bossuet showed him the pan, where the frittata he'd made possibly special for Joly slowly disintegrated in knuckle deep water.   
“Oh.”  
They both looked down at it, good intentions gone soggy. The frittata had gone just as weird as their relationship. And just like their relationship, they placed the soggy frittata out of sight to deal with later, and went to work drying the kitchen with towels and tissues. 

Several trips to and from the bathroom later to retrieve more towels ended in one last journey to the hamper where they discarded them as well as their clothes. Joly got away with removing only his socks and shirt, having stayed mostly dry. Bossuet, on the other hand, was completely soaked.  
Joly was glad he'd chosen to sit down on the toilet lid, best seats in the house for the show. Bossuet took off his shirt and Joly's mouth went dry. So much for avoiding scenarios that could cause him to do something stupid. He had to physically restrain himself from getting up and 'helping' Bossuet with the rest of his clothes. He did pause at his waistband, looking at Joly from underneath his lashes.   
“Is it okay if I ... ? In front of you?” He gestured to his trousers. Joly barely managed to nod. As far as he was concerned Bossuet could In Front Of Him whatever the hell he wanted. Bossuet pulled down his trousers and Joly expected himself to go decidedly inappropriate places. He did not expect stegosauruses.

“What.”  
Bossuet looked down at himself, still in his briefs which were a perfectly respectable black, then at the object of Joly's attention. He grinned, turned around so Joly could get a better look. He had two stegosauruses tattooed on his thigh.   
Joly was saved from an untimely boner. He was not saved from once and for all, irrevocably, desperately, wanting to be Bossuet's boyfriend.  
“I think I love you,” he blurted out. Bossuet stared at him. Then at his tattoo, then at Joly again.  
“Because of them?” he asked, pointing at his dinosaurs.  
“Yes. No.” Joly shook his head. “Because of everything. Because of you. You're loveable.”  
For a sweeping, romantic love confession, this needed a little work. But Bossuet, rather than being physically repelled like Joly had secretly feared, started beaming like an alien abductor with a quota.   
“I'm loveable?” he asked. Joly nodded, shrugged, then laughed when Bossuet pulled him to his feet and into his arms, hugging him so tightly he actually lifted him a few inches off the ground. Joly yelped, held onto Bossuet, then yelped again when he felt his own trousers getting wet as Bossuet's wet underwear started soaking through his own clothes.   
Bossuet apologised, Joly shut him up with a kiss.   
It was not a romantic kiss, nothing like the rising finale of a romantic comedy. It was a big, wet, sloppy kiss planted right on Bossuet's lips, and it made him laugh so hard, Joly had to support him on their way to Musichetta's bedroom to look for some of her spare clothes.

That was around the time Musichetta finally came home. They heard the key turn in the lock, then footsteps.   
“Hey, did that old faucet finally break? It was a matter of days at this point- oh wow. That went a lot faster than I expected.”  
Joly felt oddly like he should apologise. He looked down at himself, out of his trousers, and Bossuet completely naked, intensely aware of how this looked.  
“We didn't-”  
“We just got wet,” Bossuet explained. Musichetta made a humming sound.  
“You're not the only ones,” she said with an appreciative once-over that had Joly turning beet red. He made to explain that there was nothing untoward going on here, but Musichetta made short work of them and tackled them to the bed, entirely not surprised enough for her to have known nothing about their latent feelings for each other. Joly realised this mid-flight and turned an accusing finger at Musichetta when they landed, warm blankets immediately threatening to engulf them.   
“Did you plan this?”  
Instead of confessing Musichetta merely laughed and kissed first Bossuet, then him. Her kisses were romantic, and much more besides. Joly melted into them and then even more when he felt Bossuet's hand intertwining with his, their shoulders touching.   
Musichetta braced over them smiled like all her dreams had come true.


End file.
